


Waiting for the Thaw

by roebling



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a year and a half, Hayle College still didn't feel much like home to Spencer, no matter how much his dopey RA liked to pretend they were a big happy family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for the Thaw

**Author's Note:**

> As a minor note, this story depicts a relationship between an RA and a student living on their floor. I don't really think that requires a warning, but I decided to err on the side of caution. Also, D.C. = Dining Commons.
> 
> (Originally posted December 19, 2009)

For a moment, Spencer thought he was in the wrong dorm, or that he was having an exhaustion-induced hallucination. Christmas had exploded all over the third floor of Cantley Hall. A rainbow of lights outlined all the windows and wreaths -- real wreaths, with needles and a sharp, pine-tree smell -- hung on all the doors, adorned with cheery red bows. Silver, red, and green tinsel garland hung in swags from the ceiling.

It was ridiculous.

Spencer fumbled in his bag for his keys. The hinges on his door squeaked. His room was dark and silent. Jon, his roommate, wouldn't be back from Chicago until the next day. He dropped his bag on his bed. The air smelled stale and fetid. The heat in the dorms was always cranking. Spencer really hoped they'd remembered to take out the garbage before leaving for break. He cracked the window. It was freezing outside, and it air smelled clean and cold and promised snow.

Thanksgiving break was over. It would be five weeks before he was back home in Vegas again. After a year and a half, Hayle College still didn't feel much like home, no matter how much his dopey RA liked to pretend they were a big happy family. Spencer kicked off his shoes and set the alarm on his phone. He had a nine o'clock class the next morning, and his brain felt fuzzy. He tried to get comfortable in the stupid dorm bed, but his spine had gotten used to his mattress at home and needed to get reacquainted with all the lumps and bumps. He squirmed and rolled over. He sighed and closed his eyes, but it was a long time before he fell asleep.

He slept through his alarm the next morning and rolled out of bed ten minutes before class. Cursing, he ran all the way to Intro to Stats, which was held in cold, damp basement of the Math building. The exposed pipes in the ceiling gurgled as his professor droned on and on about measures of central tendency. Spencer scribbled barely legible notes and struggled to stay awake. Fortified by a large latte, he feigned interest during Microeconomics. Afterward he headed back to the dorm. He tried to study at his desk but ended up watching videos on YouTube until his buzzing phone startled him. He had a new text. Pete was back on campus.

Spencer showered quickly, shaved, and dressed. The mirror hanging on the back of his door presented a fairly satisfactory reflection. He'd kept up with his running over Thanksgiving, and had resisted his mother's efforts to feed him up. He'd been chubby in high school and pretty much ignored his appearance as three parts discouraging and two parts unimportant, but the summer before college he'd finally hit a growth spurt. The ease with which he'd fallen in with Hayle's most popular crowd had been unexpected and somewhat flattering. It had been a little overwhelming at first. Spencer hadn't been the kind of kid to get invited to parties in high school, so he'd been skeptical, half expecting some prank, but his suspicions had been unfounded. He'd become fast friends -- and sometimes more -- with a couple of different guys.

Pete was one of those guys. He lived in the nicest apartment-style dorms near the quad, because he was the captain of the soccer team and had led them to their first ever conference championship the year before. He had a full-ride scholarship despite barely managing Cs in the motley assortment of electives he took every semester. He got to missed half his classes anyway, when the team was traveling. He was pretty decent guy once you got to know him, and he threw an awesome party. Spencer had woken up more than once after a night at Pete's place with very little recollection of the previous evening.

Spencer took the long way to Pete's dorm, through the deserted picnic grove and over the little foot-bridge that spanned the creek. It was colder in New England in early December than it ever got in Vegas, but not bitter cold like it would be later in the winter. It was still pleasant, walking out in the quiet evening. Thankfully, there hadn't been any real snowfall yet, just flurries. There were little knots of kids lingering outside the D.C.. Their breath bloomed into white clouds that drifted out of the circle of lamplight. Hayle was a small enough school that odds were he knew at least one of them, but Spencer wasn't in the mood for distraction. He shoved his hands in his pocket and kept his head down. He made it as far as the edge of the quad when someone shouted his name.

"Spencer, wait up!"

Spencer cursed under his breath. Brendon, his annoying RA, was running after him, long striped scarf flapping.

"How was your Thanksgiving?" Brendon asked, beaming. The apples of his cheeks were the same red as the frames of his stupid glasses.

"It was fine," Spencer said. "Yours?"

"I stayed here and served Thanksgiving dinner at the homeless shelter in the city, and then the concert choir performed afterward. It was really great."

Brendon was still smiling; he looked like a total doof. Strike that, he was a total doof.

"Great," Spencer said, deadpan.

"Yeah!" Brendon said. "I mean, I did a ton of community service when I was a kid but I never really appreciated it back then. There's something really fulfilling about ..."

"Listen," Spencer interrupted. "I'm really sorry but I'm on my way to meet someone at the library for a study session."

Brendon's smile faltered only marginally. "Hitting the books already, huh?" he says. "That's great, man. I'll let you get on your way. I just wanted to let you know that there's a floor meeting tomorrow at eight."

"Okay, fine," Spencer said. "I guess I'll see you then."

"Great!" Brendon said. "Have a great night, Spencer!"

"Yeah, you too," Spencer muttered as he walked away, shaking his head.

The quad was deserted, so he cut across the lawn. The grass was frosted and crunched underfoot. The more he thought about Brendon, the angrier he got. Before he'd come to Hayle, he'd been warned that it was a school for hippies and weirdos, even if the business program was rated top ten in the country. That was mostly just exaggeration, but Brendon fit the part to a tee. The weirdness was one thing, but he was also stupidly nosy. He was always lurking around in the hallway at night, and more than once Jon had to flush a perfectly good joint down the toilet because Brendon had come knocking as they were lighting up. If it weren't for the vaporizer Jon's brothers had gotten him for his birthday, Jon probably would barely spend any time in their room at all. Brendon was a wet rag, and his floor meetings were the definition of tedium.

Pete's dorm was suspiciously quiet. It wouldn't have been entirely surprising if he'd gotten tired of waiting and had gone off to find something better to do. Spencer knocked, and jumped when the door swung open right away. Pete stood in the doorway, hair sticking up at wild angles.

"Dude, what the hell were you doing?" he asked, cheerfully annoyed.

Spencer sighed. "Sorry, man. My stupid RA was hanging outside the D.C. He wanted to make small talk or something."

"Lame," Pete said, pulling him inside and shutting the door.

"Did I miss the party or something?" Spencer asked, looking around. The television was on but the volume was turned down. The heat was turned up high and a bottle of beer perspired gently on the coffee table.

"No party tonight," Pete said. "I just wanted to spend some quality time with my good buddy Spencer Smith."

Spencer rolled his eye. He knew what that meant. Pete was too predictable; he wasn't really in the mood, but when Pete grabbed his hand and tugged him down onto the couch, he didn't resist.

He woke groggy and disoriented the next morning. Pete snored blissfully on the other side of the bed. The blinds were open and the room was flooded with sunlight. It was ten thirty, and he'd slept right through his French II tutorial.

He rolled out of bed and grabbed his clothes from the floor. Pete's dorm had its own tiny, filthy bathroom, all available surfaces covered with bottles of hair product and broken eyeliner pencils. Spencer washed his face and pulled on his dirty clothes and ran out the door. He'd text Pete later or something; it was nothing serious, their thing. Pete just liked to be close to people, in all senses of the word. Spencer knew it didn't mean anything.

He made it to his recitation just as the grad student who taught the class started writing the problems up on the board. Calc was the usual slog: the TA explained everything badly and the class stared, silent and glassy-eyed. Spencer went to the D.C. afterward to grab some lunch. A few of Jon's friends sat eating by the soda machines, but Spencer wasn't in a particularly friendly mood. He took his sandwich to go and sat in a quiet corner of the Arts building and worked on the problem set he hadn't finished the day before. He worked steadily, tediously picking his way through the numbers and symbols until they appeared hieroglyphic.

He stood and stretched and something in his back popped. It was just past dark. He was sore and stiff. He needed to stretch and he needed some coffee. He packed his stuff back in his bag and wandered outside, past a group of freshman girls giggling on the front steps. He walked to the cafe at the far end of campus and sat alone at a table paging through magazines. He had nowhere to go when he was done with his coffee but back to Cantley. He felt tired and a little gross from not showering. Jon had probably scored some weed while he was home. The thought of calling a couple of friends and smoking up and watching some DVDs was pretty appealing. He still had some studying he ought to do, but there was still three weeks until finals, plenty of time.

He stopped short when he pushed open the door from the stairwell. Everyone from the third floor was sitting cross-legged in the hallway. Brendon stood at the far end of the hall wearing a Santa hat and a heinous sweater. When he saw Spencer, he paused mid sentence and grinned.

"Spencer," he said. "Great! Now we're all here."

Spencer frowned and dropped to the floor next to Jon. "Hey," he whispered. "I totally fucking forgot about this thing."

Jon shrugged. He blinked sleepily, eyes red-glazed.

Brendon had started in on his speech again -- something about good cheer and holiday spirit and kindness towards your fellow man. Spencer paid only marginal attention. He was a little peeved Jon hadn't waited for him to smoke up, or at least sent a text to let him know he was back. That would have been only polite. He spied Ian and Dallon from the room next to his, peering at something on Ian's phone and laughing. A snotty looking girl he didn't know was flipping through a copy of Vogue. This was as bad as freshman orientation, with all the speeches about Hayle's long and storied history and the stupid get-to-know-each-other games they'd had to play. It was a waste of time and an insult to their intellects. Brendon was lucky the students of the third floor didn't stage a revolt.

Suddenly, Spencer heard his name. He looked up, startled.

Brendon was smiling at him. "Right, Spencer?" he asked. His Santa hat was askew. The bell at the end of it jingled pathetically.

"Uh, yeah. Sure?" Spencer said, unsure.

"See guys," he said. "Spencer's got some holiday spirit. I know you're all busy with finals, but I'm sure there's one or two more of you who are willing to spare a little of your time for a good cause."

"What did I just sign myself up for?" Spencer hissed at Jon.

"Got me," Jon said, frowning.

Brendon was looking around expectantly for more volunteers, but nobody would meet his gaze.

"I'm sure you are all thinking about it, so how about I leave it open? Anybody interested in helping with the third floor holiday food drive, just let me know."

Nobody said a word. The silence dragged on a painful few moments. Someone's cellphone rang and was quickly silenced.

"Okay, I guess that's it then. Good luck with your finals, guys," Brendon said lamely. Everyone was already standing and stretching, legs cramped from sitting on the floor. Spencer made a beeline for his room, but he was intercepted.

"I really appreciate you helping me out," Brendon stood, standing in the doorway, directly between Spencer and his destination.

"Uh, sure," Spencer said awkwardly. "I mean, I'm really busy with school, so I don't know how much time I can ..."

"No, no," Brendon said, quickly. "Of course. School definitely comes first, but every little bit helps, right?"

"Right," said Spencer, smiling weakly. "It's a good cause."

"Exactly," Brendon said, excitedly. "Are you free tomorrow? I was thinking we could start to make some signs ..."

"Tomorrow I'm busy," Spencer said. It wasn't a lie; he had a work study job at the library, and he was scheduled to put in a few hours the next morning. Besides, he really did have to get some studying done.

"Maybe tomorrow night?" Brendon asked, tentative.

Spencer sighed mightily. "Maybe," he said.

"Great!" said Brendon. "Here, let me give you my number, and you can call me when you're free."

Brendon turned out the pockets of his jeans, littering the floor with gum wrappers and bits of lint. He dithered, but it seemed he had no pen or paper.

"Here," Spencer said, frowning. "Just give me your phone."

Brendon handed over his phone, an older model with scratches on the screen and a sparkly rainbow sticker on the front. Spencer added his number and then texted himself.

"There," he said, eager to escape. "So I'll just text you or something ..."

"Great!" Brendon said.

"Yeah," Spencer said, staring at a point just a little above and to the right of Brendon's head. It took a moment, but Brendon seemed to get the hint. He gave Spencer one more huge grin and walked off, presumably to bother any other stragglers.

Jon, who had been watching Spencer's interrogation from the safe confines of their dorm, was brimming with quiet amusement. "Dude," he said. "Sucks for you."

Spencer frowned. "You're not kidding," he said. "Whatever. I'll figure out some way to get out of it."

"Shut the door," Jon said. "My brother hooked me up with the dankest weed ever.

***

Spencer's best friend Ryan was an English major at a school thirty miles away. Once a week, they met at a bar halfway between the two campuses for lunch. They ate club sandwiches and bitched about life, even though they talked on the phone every day anyway. Sometimes it seemed like they talked so much and knew each other so well there wasn't much left to talk about. Spencer peeled the label from his beer bottle as Ryan complained about his Shakespeare class. Apparently having to read Romeo & Juliet for the third time was an egregious insult and clear indication Ryan's professor was an uneducated plebeian. Spencer humored Ryan by listening, but he'd heard variations on this particular rant many times before. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out, secretly glad for the distraction. He stared. Brendon had sent him a message with no capital letters and five exclamation points. It took him a moment to decipher, as though it were written in some foreign tongue.

"Booty call?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Spencer gave him a nasty look. Just one time Ryan had seen a slightly X-rated message on Spencer's phone from Pete, and now he wouldn't drop it. "Shut up," he said. "And no, not that you have any room to talk. It's my stupid RA. He wants me to help him with some project."

"I told you you should have moved off campus with me," Ryan said. " Why don't you just ditch him?"

Spencer shrugged. "I'm going to, I guess. I don't know. I feel sort of bad for the kid."

"You're such a mother hen," Ryan said, rolling his eyes although his tone was fond.

"No," Spencer said, frowning. "I don't know. It's a charity thing. I'd look like an asshole if I ditched."

He took out his wallet and threw a twenty on the table.

"You're really leaving?" Ryan asked. "I was going to tell you about the story we had to workshop in Creative Writing this week. You've never read such garbage in your whole life ..."

"I'll call you tonight and you can tell me all about it," Spencer said. "I just want to put in my time and get this over with."

"Lame," Ryan said. "I've gotta work tonight though." He shuddered. Ryan hated all menial, minimum wage jobs, but he wasn't qualified for much else.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders and waved goodbye. Outside, it was getting colder and the sky was pale grey. He waited fifteen minutes for the bus back to campus with his hands shoved in his pockets. His iPod went dead halfway through the ride, so he stared out the window at the barren countryside. The fields were all clipped short and the trees were bleached of all their autumn color. A bunch of girls Spencer vaguely recognized were sitting up near the driver, prattling on about some dumb movie they'd gone to see. Spencer was not on the whole much impressed by his peers. The bus seemed to take longer than usual to pull up in front of Cantley. Spencer trudged upstairs and dumped his stuff by the door. He dithered for a few minutes, checking his email and changing his shirt. Jon had Botany lab all afternoon on Wednesdays. Eventually he ran out of plausible delays. Dragging his feet, he walked down to Brendon's room at the end of the hall.

The door was wide open. Spencer had never been in his RA's room before; it was bigger than the room he shared with Jon and seemed doubly so because it was a single. It was only slightly less exuberantly decorated than the hall, with twinkly lights strung above the window and a tiny, decorated tree on the desk. Brendon sat on the floor at the foot of his bed, surrounded by a sea of poster board. He was concentrating hard on the sign he was drawing, head bowed and the pale back of his neck bared. He didn't seem to notice Spencer standing awkwardly in the doorway. There were a lot of posters on the walls, some of them of bands that Spencer was surprised Brendon even listened to. He'd always come off as pretty sheltered and buttoned up. Still, despite the posters and the Christmas decorations, the room was spare and a little sad. The bedspread was worn and ratty, and he didn't have a computer or even a television, just a cheap boom box sitting on top of his dresser.

Spencer cleared his throat, and Brendon jumped.

"Holy shit," Brendon said. "You scared me." He didn't sound very upset, although he'd gone pale except for the red of his cheeks.

"Sorry," Spencer said.

"No problem," Brendon said happily. "I'm stoked you came. I really need some help with these signs." He waved his hands a little pathetically.

Spencer stared around the room. Brendon had finished a couple of signs, but they were a disaster. On one, the letters started out huge and ended up tiny because he'd run out of space. He also had a penchant for color. Everything was red and green and gold, which was certainly in keeping with the season, but also made the signs almost impossible to read. Spencer's Marketing professor from last semester would have run from the room in horror.

"Uh, so what's your plan, exactly?" he asked.

Brendon shrugged. "Make signs, put out some boxes, collect some cans. You know, uh, run a food drive."

"Right," Spencer said, sighing. "Have you got the boxes yet? Where are you putting them? How are you going to get the food to the ... Well, where's all this food going anyway?"

"I totally haven't thought that far yet. I figured I'd just make the signs and take it from there."

Spencer shoook his head. "Okay, just stop. We need to make a plan."

Brendon laughed. "Okay, whatever you say. I cede to your superior managerial skills."

At least Brendon wasn't a complete idiot. Spencer grabbed a pad sitting on the desk and flipped to a clean page.

"Good," he said. "Okay, so I think we need to have drop-off sites in a diverse variety of locations. I do work-study in the library, and I can ask my boss if we can leave a box by circulation desk. I guess we'll have one downstairs, but what about other dorms? Have you talked to any of the other RAs? You guys are all part of some lame club, right? I mean, how else would you always know to wait up lurking when I'm coming back drunk?"

"Hey, I don't lurk," Brendon said, frowning. "I'm not lurking; I'm just concerned for you guys!"

Spencer rolled his eyes and gave Brendon his most skeptical look. "Sure," he said. "I'll believe that when you show up at my door the morning after with a bottle of aspirin and a cup of coffee."

"So you're saying that instead of weekly board game night I should have weekend brunch?"

"You should offer room service," Spencer said. "You'd make a fortune."

"Dude, if I wasn't one hundred percent positive that Res Ed would fire my ass when they found out, I would be all over that." Brendon grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

Spencer had to laugh, despite himself.

Half an hour later, they had identified fifteen potential drop-off sites and brainstormed outreach strategies. Brendon was going to talk to some of the RAs he knew in other buildings, and Spencer was almost sure his boss would let them leave a box at the library. Brendon knew, at least, where all the food was going to end up; one of his friends had a truck they could use to cart it all to the food bank in town. To drum up interest, they'd flood all the list serves on campus with messages asking people to donate. Brendon was dead-set on his hand drawn signs, but Spencer was pretty sure he could convince Gerard down the hall to make something up for them too. He was a graphic arts major and really talented, if a little weird. Jon's buddy Tom worked in the copy center and he'd definitely let them make copies for free.

Potentially, this might end up being something less than a disaster.

"Maybe we can get the book store to donate a gift certificate as a prize or something," Spencer said, idly.

Brendon was laying on his back on the bed, his head hanging off the edge. "No way," he said. "It's not like, a contest. I want people to help because they want to help."

Spencer snorted. "That didn't even make sense," he said. "But whatever, if you don't want to give people any incentive, we'll just count on the innate goodness of the human spirit."

"That's not what I mean." Brendon sort of pouted, but it just looked ridiculous upside-down.

"Sure thing, Mother Teresa," Spencer said. He stood, stretching his arms behind his head. "Come on, get up. My best friend Ryan works at Sam's Club. We can get boxes from him."

"Sweet," Brendon said, dropping awkwardly on to the floor.. "You're totally going to be CEO of a Fortune 500 company when you grow up, aren't you?"

"Whatever," Spencer said, scowling. "I just like things to be done properly."

Brendon chuckled, and Spencer resisted the urge to punch him, or at least leave him to get his own damn boxes. He could easily have blown Brendon off; he didn't really give a shit about canned food. Now that he was part of this mess, though, he was determined that it was going to be a resounding success, in spite of Brendon's ineptitude

Jon was still at class but the keys to his car were on his dresser; Spencer pretty much had free reign to borrow it. Brendon waited outside while Spencer scribbled a note and grabbed his jacket.

"You could have come inside," he said grumpily as they walked downstairs.

"Nah," Brendon said. "I'd rather remain ignorant about what goes on in your room. I totally don't want to have to write you up."

"Shut up," Spencer mumbled. Yeah, he and Jon liked to have fun but they weren't exactly party animals. "I've been on the Dean's List every semester you know."

Brendon gave him a dubious look, and wow, seriously, what an asshole. Spencer did great in school. He earned As in all his classes, which were hard, not like History of Folk Music or whatever bullshit Brendon was taking. He'd already talked to one of his advisers about going for an honors degree. He wasn't going to let some dumb kid whose idea of a good time on a Saturday night was playing Monopoly in his dorm make him feel bad about making the most of his college experience.

The ride was admittedly awkward. Jon's stereo worked only fitfully, so Brendon fiddled with the radio for most of the ride. He flipped through stations, never staying on one long enough for them to hear a full song. It was really annoying. Spencer wanted to tell him to calm down. Instead, he bit his tongue and concentrated hard on the road. The shopping center was jammed full. They parked way in the back of the lot. Inside the store, shoppers bustled through the aisles, causing minor traffic jams as they stood deep in contemplation of the various giant bottles of salad dressing and vast tubs of mayonnaise.

Ryan worked the cash registers. He was with a customer as they walked up, a look of abject horror on his face. The woman he was checking out had a circular in her hand and was arguing energetically that she wasn't being given the full discount she felt she was due. Ryan glowered at her, but she was undismayed. A little girl maybe nine years old stood at her side, yammering into a cell phone. The woman huffed and narrowed her eyes.

"Let me speak to your manager, young man," she said. "You've been nothing but unhelpful."

"Be my guest," Ryan said, and he pointed the woman towards the service desk.

As she walked away, Spencer saw the circular she was holding. It was for another store entirely.

Ryan exhaled dramatically, and turned off the light on his lane. "The fact that you're here just confirms that this must be some kind of awful nightmare, because I know you'd never subject yourself to the indignities of this place in real life." His speech tended to take on a dramatic turn when he was stressed.

"Bad day, huh?" Spencer said.

"You have no idea," Ryan said. "Warehouse stores are certain evidence of the decay of modern society."

"Yeah," Spencer said. Ryan's diatribes were entertaining, but it was kind of sad that this was the only place willing to hire him. "Hey, this is Brendon. I told you about the thing I was helping him with."

Ryan stared at Brendon so intently that Spencer almost felt embarrassed on his behalf. "Hey," he said after a long moment.

"Hi," Brendon said. "Nice to meet you, man. I totally agree that working retail is the pits. I used to work at this smoothie place back in high school and it was just miserable ..."

"Ryan's had some bad experiences with food service," Spencer cut in. "It's better not to remind." The one unfortunate week Ryan had spent behind the counter of McDonald's was infamous.

"So what do you want?" Ryan asked.

"Can we grab some boxes?" Spencer asked. "For the food drive thing."

"Sure," Ryan said. "There's a ton out back." He lead them through the aisles, past fifty-packs of toilet paper and ten pound sacks of flour.

"I really appreciate this," Brendon said brightly.

"We'd just throw them out otherwise," Ryan said, dismissive. "It's nothing.

Brendon had a thoughtful expression on his face. "Do you think there's any other stuff they'd want to donate? It would totally make the store look great and we'd take anything."

Spencer snorted. "Dude, if they were going to give away their stock, why wouldn't they just give it directly to the food bank?"

"Well ," Brendon said, flushing. "Maybe they didn't think of it. A lot of people don't realize how many people go hungry. Half the point of this is to increase awareness, you know? Everyone has the right to have enough to eat."

"Maybe they thought about making a profit," Spencer said. "You totally sound like a communist."

"I do not sound ..." Brendon's voice started to rise, but Ryan interrupted.

"No," he said, annoyed. "No, Spence, I'm pretty sure he sounds like a libertarian socialist."

***

By the end of the week, the signs were painted and adorned with glitter. E-mails were drafted and waiting to be sent, and the collection boxes had been decorated to look like giant presents. Gerard down the hall had drawn them up a flier with a deranged-looking snowman; it was a little creepy, but it caught the eye. Things were all set to go, thankfully, because Spencer had nearly had his fill of holiday do-gooding. He and Brendon were going all over campus hanging up the fliers. The temperature had dropped sharply overnight and snow was forecast. He was pretty sure he was going to bomb the Calc test he had the next morning, but he was too depressed about it to study. They still had a stack of fliers an inch thick to hang, but Spencer was pretty damn close to bailing and leaving Brendon to his own devices. He'd put way too much time into this stupid project as it was, and he knew Jon was going to a party off campus.

"Does that look straight?" Brendon asked, peering at the sign he'd just taped up. It was crooked but Spencer nodded anyway.

"What's wrong with you?" Brendon frowned. "You seem really grouchy, man."

Spencer shrugged. "I hate this weather," he said. "I never thought I'd miss the desert, but winter fucking sucks."

"Yeah, I totally feel you," Brendon said, holding the door open as they walked back outside. "When I was applying to school, I wanted to get as far away from Las Vegas as possible. I'd never even seen snow before I got here."

Spencer turned to stare at him. "I didn't know you were from Vegas," he said. "I grew up in Summerlin."

Brendon laughed. "Seriously? That's so weird. I don't think I know anybody else at Hayle from Nevada."

"Yeah," Spencer said. "People act like it's on another planet or something." The snow was falling more heavily. He tugged up the hood of his jacket. "How'd you end up out here, anyway?"

Brendon looked away. "I just wanted to experience something different, I guess, and I got enough financial aid to be able to afford it. My parents wanted me to go to Brigham Young."

"Ah," Spencer said, a little awkward. He'd known some Mormon kids growing up, and they were not very much like Brendon at all, but it kind of made sense. "Well, you probably couldn't have found a place more different than BYU."

Brendon snorted. "You don't have to tell me. My parents are convinced that I'm going to end up a starving, drug addicted busker on the streets of some debauched big city." His tone was bitter.

"Isn't that what happens to most Hayle graduates?"

Brendon laughed, gently. They were coming up to the next dorm. "Touche, my friend. Everyone except captains of industry like yourself."

"Please," Spencer said, rolling his eyes. "The way things are looking, I'll be lucky if I can get work answering phones when I graduate. I've been thinking about changing to communications or something ... but I dunno."

The girl working the front desk of the dorm let them inside, and Brendon grabbed another sign to hang. "You should talk to someone in the program. I applied as a performance major. I didn't even think about music education until I got here."

"You're in music education?" Spencer said, surprised. It made sense; Brendon exuded the same kind of enthusiasm he remembered from his favorite elementary school teachers. "That's cool. But yeah, I don't know. I just don't really know what I want yet."

"I don't think most people do at our age." He took a step back and cocked his head. "Straight?" he asked.

This time, Spencer couldn't lie. "Not at all," he said. "I'm going to have to get you a level or something for Christmas."

"Aw, are we exchanging gifts? I knew you were a big softie underneath your 'too-cool-for-school' exterior," Brendon teased.

Spencer felt his cheeks go red. "Shut up," he mumbled. "I'm just trying to save Hayle from a plague of crooked signs."

Brendon was staring at him with wide bright eyes and it was kind of weird. His hair was all mussed from the wind and his lips were curved in a tiny smile. He seemed about to speak when Spencer's phone buzzed in his pocket. Jon had texted to let him know he was leaving for the party. Spencer frowned. If he left now he could be back at his dorm in five minutes; he was sure that Jon would wait that long.

"Places to go, things to do?" Brendon quipped. He cradled his stack of posters in his arms.

"Jon's going to a party some place out on Southeast Road," Spencer said. "I've got a Calc test tomorrow morning, so I'm gonna blow it off."

"You really are Mr. Responsible," Brendon said. "If you need to go study, it's totally cool. I've got this."

Spencer put his phone away. "Nah," he said. "It's cool. I can help you finish up."

"Thanks," Brendon said. His smile grew. "I was gonna head to the D.C. next, actually, and grab some dinner, if you want to ..."

"Yeah, I could eat," Spencer said slowly. "Besides, someone has to stick around to make sure you don't accidentally hang the signs upside down."

***

The next day started off bad and got worse. Spencer's alarm didn't go off and he got to the Calc test with literally ten seconds to spare. The closer it got to the end of he semester, the worse he was at getting to his classes on time. He muddled through the problems with only a faint sense of what he was supposed to be doing, and prayed that everyone else was just as badly prepared so that the professor graded them on a curve. After the exam was over, he went to get a cup of coffee and ended up spilling it all over his shirt. He had to work, so he couldn't head back to Cantley to change. The library was a miserable place right before finals. Everyone was over-caffeinated and snappy. A senior with bad skin and a worse haircut bitched Spencer out because someone had checked out the book he needed for his US History paper, which was totally not Spencer's fault at all. He texted Jon to see how the party had gone the night before, but his phone died before he got a response. One of his least favorite co-workers, annoying freshman named Julianna, came in at two to check in dropped off books, and spent the next hour complaining to Spencer about her cheating asshole of a boyfriend back home.

By the time four o'clock rolled around, he was looking forward to doing nothing demanding then putting on pajamas and watching a movie. It was only as he was walking out the door that he though to go check the collection box. He peered inside. To his surprise, it was pretty full of cans and boxes and stuff. The posters and the emails must have done the trick. Brendon was lucky that Spencer had agreed to help. He felt kind of proud, actually, which made up in some minuscule way for his shitty day.

The snow from the night before hadn't really melted, and campus did look kind of pretty. He took the long way back to his dorm. The older buildings had electric candles in the windows and evergreen roping under the eaves. As much as he hated Hayle sometimes, Spencer felt lucky to be there, too. He stopped to check his mail in the lobby of his dorm; his aunt had sent him a Christmas card and a check for thirty dollars, which was completely unexpected and really nice. He had to remember to call her and say thank you. Upstairs, he saw Brendon's door was open. He walked down to the end of the hall and knocked gently on the frame.

"Hey," he said.

Brendon looked up. He was sitting on his floor again, this time surrounded by lots of little bits of paper and glitter, which had gotten everywhere. There was a sparkly smear under one eye.

"What are you doing?" Spencer asked, confused.

"Making snowflakes for everyone on the floor," Brendon said. He took a sheet of paper and folded it in quarters and started enthusiastically snipping away.

Spencer must have temporarily forgotten what a dork he was.

"Nice," he said. "So, I checked the box while I was at work today, and people have already dropped stuff off."

"Awesome," Brendon said, grinning. "Oh man, the people at the food bank are going to be thrilled. We're gonna help so many people!" He was legitimately excited.

"Yeah, it's a good thing," Spencer said, kind of lamely.

"I really appreciate your help with all this," Brendon said. He was still snipping away at his snowflake.

"It's nothing," said Spencer. "So, uh, what are you going to do with those?"

Brendon shrugged and unfolded his handiwork. The snowflake was a little lopsided. He grabbed a glue stick and went to work with the glitter. "Give them out, I guess. Spread holiday cheer."

"Ah," Spencer said. "Nice."

"I was going to do paper cranes, but it turns out I suck at origami." A sad pile of paper at Brendon's side revealed itself as several disfigured birds.

He turned back to his work. Spencer stood in the doorway, the tips of his toes just inside the room. It was almost like Brendon was blowing him off, which was pretty lame, considering he'd just stopped by to be polite. "I'm gonna go then," he said.

"Big plans for the weekend?" Brendon asked, not looking up.

"Uh, I guess," Spencer said. "I have a paper due next week I have to work on, but my friend Pete is having a party tonight so I'll probably stop over there."

"Pete Wentz, right?" Brendon said. "I know him. He was in my Intro to World Music class last year." He finished another snowflake and held it up for inspection.

"Nice one," Spencer said. "Yeah, Pete's cool."

Brendon hummed noncommittally. "I guess," He said. "I always thought he seemed like kind of a pompous asshole, but I didn't really know him very well."

"Clearly not," Spencer said.

Brendon was sprinkling glitter, getting it everywhere. His dark hair fell in his face. The lights on his dumb tree twinkled. His room was still empty and bare, dust bunnies in the corners.

Spencer frowned. Pete was a good guy, even if he came off the wrong way. Brendon had no right to judge him. He turned and started down the hall without saying goodbye, leaving Brendon alone with his damn arts and crafts project.

***

Five hours later, Spencer was drunk and hot. The thermostat in Pete's dorm had to be turned up to eighty. The beer pong table had collapsed when Gabe had fallen on it, and the floor was sticky from spilled beer. The music throbbed; the RA on duty was surely going to come knocking soon, if the police weren't called first. It had happened before. Some guy Spencer didn't know was flirting with him pretty hardcore, standing too close and reaching out to touch Spencer's arm as he spoke. He was cute, with short dark hair and pretty eyes, but Spencer wasn't really feeling it. He was still in a bad mood, worried about his dumb Calc test and annoyed by Brendon's uncalled for censure.

"Sorry," he said, waving a hand. "I ... uh." He pushed past the cute guy into the kitchen. His stomach lurched a little. The world tilted and then righted itself.

Pete was standing at the sink. "Whoa there," he said, laying a hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Do I have to flag you, Spence?"

"Not yet," Spencer said, grappling with a beer bottle. He'd always kind of sucked at twist-off caps. Pete took the bottle from him and opened it.

"You're surly tonight," Pete said. His eyes crinkled; his smile was amused.

"Yeah," Spencer said. It was true. He wasn't having a good time. He was sweaty and felt a little sick. "Hey, do you know someone named Brendon?"

Pete frowned. "I don't think so, dude."

"I knew he was wrong," Spencer said. "My stupid RA said you were an asshole but you don't even know him."

"Oh wait, that kid?" Pete said. "Dark hair, nice smile, kinda hot? Yeah, he was in class with me or something."

Spencer shook his head in confusion. "No, that's definitely not the same person. He's not hot at all. He's got like, these dorky glasses and he wears stupid sweaters and ..."

"Dude, I've totally been to your dorm. It's the same guy. Fuck him if he thinks I'm an asshole." Pete bared his teeth and got another beer for himself. "Tell him I said that, okay Spence?" Someone called his name from across the room and he was gone, waving a hand and pushing back into the crowd of people in the living room.

Spencer leaned against the fridge for a while. The dumb magnets dug into his back. He took another sip of his beer but his stomach gurgled. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, but he'd had the normal amount to drink. That had been a bad idea, in retrospect. He felt a drop of sweat trickle down his back. He turned on the tap, but he couldn't find any clean glasses, just red Solo cups with dried cocktail ringing the bottom. He needed some air. He closed his eyes and reached in his pocket for his phone. His fingers felt clumsy and he knew if he managed to get the damn thing unlocked he'd just end up drunk dialing Ryan. He gave it up as a lost cause.

The song changed; it was worse than before, shrill and pounding and he couldn't handle it. He needed out. His coat was in Pete's bedroom, but that was all the way across the apartment. It wasn't so far to his dorm. It couldn't be that cold. He squeezed through the tiny foyer, past a couple making out against a wall, and out into the hall. It was a strange and sudden inversion, empty and quiet and still. He took the stairs slowly and only stumbled once. Outside, snow fell.

The walk back to his dorm seemed to take longer than it ever had. Spencer shivered. His teeth knocked together and he trembled and his arms were goosebumped. At least the cold seemed to settle his stomach and his nerves. He felt still and self-contained, walking home in the snow well after midnight. He saw no one else, only a few sets of footprints, already dusted over. The light was on in the lobby of Cantley. Spencer pushed the door open and was enveloped by a great breath of warm air. Someone was sitting at the check-in desk, head bent over a book. It was Brendon.

"Spencer ..." he said. His eyebrows were creased and he was frowning. "You're covered in snow."

"It's snowing out," Spencer said dumbly. "What are you doing down here?"

"I'm the RA on duty tonight for the sophomore dorms. I was getting bored upstairs, so I came down here to read," Brendon said. "Shit, you're shaking." He got up and came out from behind the desk.

"I'm okay," Spencer said. He closed his eyes. The afterimage of the light fixture on the ceiling glowed orange on his eyelids. "I'm ..." He stopped and swallowed once, and then again. His stomach protested.

"If you need to throw up, there's a bathroom down the hall," Brendon said, cautious.

That sounded like a good idea. Spencer lurched down the hall. The bathroom was empty, thankfully. The blue tile was cool on his knees. He left the door of the stall open. He puked, and everything came up burning. He coughed. When he was done, he tore a piece of toilet paper from the roll and wiped the sick from his mouth. He felt a little better; his stomach had settled. He flushed the toilet, and hauled himself to his feet.

Brendon was standing right outside the stall, watching. His eyes were dark. His mouth was a tight, nervous line. "Maybe I should call the health center ..."

Spencer closed his eyes. "Please don't," he said. "Fuck. Are you going to write me up?"

"You don't have any alcohol on you, right?" His voice was quiet. "If you don't have any alcohol on you, you're not breaking any rules." Brendon's voice echoed hollow. He stared at the ground.

"Oh," Spencer said. His shirt was wet where the snow had melted. It stuck to his back. A tremor ran sharp down his spine.

"You should go to bed," Brendon said. "Maybe you're getting sick."

Spencer rubbed his nose. "Maybe," he said. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

"I bet I am," Brendon said. "You should go rest, dude."

"Yeah," Spencer said. He groped in his pocket for his keys. "You're right. Thanks."

"Goodnight," Brendon said. "Feel better."

Spencer wanted to say something, wanted to convince Brendon that it was that he was getting sick and not that he was a drunk idiot, but his throat was seared and his head spun and he couldn't get the words out. He smiled weakly and fled for the stairs.

***

 

Jon woke him coming in the next morning. Spencer groaned and rolled over. It was pure instinct; he didn't actually feel that bad, just tired and slightly hoarse. "What time is it?" he asked, face pressed into his pillow.

"Early," Jon said. "What happened to you last night, buddy? I stopped by Pete's at like one thirty and everyone said you'd vanished into the night. I thought maybe you hooked up with somebody."

Spencer urged his unwilling body into a semi-upright position. "Nah. I felt shitty so I came back here and slept." His throat was pretty sore; he coughed to clear it. "You spend the night at Cassie's?"

"Yeah," Jon said. "We're going ice skating today. I just came back for a change of clothes."

Spencer mumbled something indistinct and flopped back down into the warmth of his bed. He pulled the covers over his head, shut his eyes, and listened to Jon open and close his dresser drawers. Finally the door slammed shut and there was silence. Sleep didn't come readily; for what seemed like a long time he listened to the rushy sound of his breath. Eventually, though, he must have fallen asleep because sometime later he was woken by loud, persistent knocking at his door. He tumbled out of bed, shocked at how cold the wood floors were underfoot.

"One sec," he said, fumbling with the lock.

Brendon stood in the hall, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot.

"Hey," Spencer said, trying to pat his hair into some semblance of order.

"Morning," Brendon said. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Spencer said. He felt weird, standing in the doorway in only his boxers. "Do you want to uh, come in or something?"

"Sure," said Brendon. He sat down heavily on Spencer's unmade bed. The room was kind of a disaster.

"I like your tapestry," Brendon said, smiling.

Spencer cringed. The tie-dye was pretty blatantly a pot leaf. He hoped Jon hadn't left any paraphernalia laying around. "It's Jon's, actually. His brother got it for him at Bonnaroo."

"Awesome," Brendon said. "My best friend Shane and I were going to go last year, but he ended up having to work."

That was nearly the last thing he's expected Brendon to say. "Jon and I have talked about going, too, but I don't think it'll end up happening. I love him but he's kind of a flake."

"You look good," Brendon said suddenly. "Not sick anymore, I mean."

"I feel okay," he said. "Maybe you were right and I am coming down with something." Spencer wished he'd pulled on a pair of sweatpants before answering the door. It was weird, being in only his boxers with Brendon in the room. He couldn't stop thinking about how Pete had said Brendon was hot; the night before he'd been pretty sure Pete was crazy, but he saw it now, in Brendon's generous mouth and his dark eyes and his slim, compact frame. He would never be able to un-see Brendon's hotness, possibly not even if he wore his Santa Claus sweater and hat.

"I'm not surprised. You walked back in a tee shirt. It was like twenty five degrees and snowing, dude." Brendon tutted.

Spencer ducked his head. "Thanks for being so cool about it," he said quietly.

"No sweat," Brendon said. "That's what friends are for. Besides, you made it to the bathroom to hurl, so you couldn't have been that bad off." He grinned. "Some girl from the first floor barfed all over the steps last weekend."

Spencer smiled. Still, he wished Brendon hadn't seen him like that. He didn't get fall-down drunk every night, but he felt as embarrassed as if he did. He started to say something to that effect, but his words got snarled in his throat. He coughed so hard his chest ached.

"Oh man," Brendon said. "I think you need a lozenge."

He dug in his pocket and produced one that looked only slightly worse for the wear. Spencer unwrapped it and sucked on it for a moment.

"Thanks," he said. "You're like a boy scout or something. Ready for anything."

Brendon saluted. "For seven years. I still have my merit badges."

Spencer snorted. "You're such a typical RA."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brendon asked, in a guarded tone of voice.

"You're like, a perfect overachiever. You were a boy scout and you want to be a teacher and you do charity work in your spare time. It's kind of sickening." Spencer grinned so that Brendon knew he was only teasing.

"You've done at least as much as I have for the food drive," Brendon said. "And I would be lying if I didn't admit that the free housing was ninety percent of the reason I applied to be an RA. I ... Uh, I don't think I could have come back this year if I didn't get a position."

"Oh," Spencer said. "That sucks. Good thing they picked you."

"Yup," Brendon said. "I stayed in housing here this summer and I didn't save as much as I should have."

"Do you never go home or something?" Spencer asked. "Are you staying here for Christmas too?"

Brendon's eyes went wide for a second, and a strange expression twisted his face. "Nope, actually," he said. "I never go home. My parents told me to decide between staying in their house and being gay, and uh, only one of those is actually a choice so ..." He shrugged, and kind of wrung his hands.

"Oh my god. Brendon, I'm sorry," Spencer said. "Fuck. I'm such an asshole."

"No," Brendon said, firm. "Seriously don't sweat it. It was a long time ago." He waved a casual hand, as if brushing off some dusty memories that didn't mean too much any more. "Hey, if you're not feeling well, we should totally go get some breakfast. You need sustenance."

"Yeah, okay," Spencer said. He was glad that Brendon was willing to let the subject drop. "Just let me pull on some clothes."

He toed through the pile of laundry at the foot of his bed, trying to find something clean to wear. He found a tee shirt that looked fairly fresh and a pair of sweats and tugged them on. "Hey, you want to come back here afterward? We could watch some movies. Jon just got the It's Always Sunny Christmas thing on DVD."

Brendon was staring at the ground. "Sure," he said. "Yeah. That would be great."

Spencer grabbed his ID and his keys and slipped on some sneakers. Brendon got up and started for the door, but Spencer stayed him with hand on his arm. "Hey," Spencer said. "I am sorry. Really."

"Thanks," Brendon said. He smiled, a little rough. "Now let's go get you some orange juice."

***

When Spencer got to work on Monday morning he noticed that the collection box was literally overflowing. It was full to the top with what Spencer hoped were non-expired, non-perishable food items, as specified on the signs and fliers. There was even more stuff sitting on the ground beside the box in plastic grocery bags. It was incredible. He punched in and dropped off his bag in the back room. As his computer booted up he got out his phone and texted Brendon to tell him.

The library was quiet. Spencer flipped through his flash cards for French. It seemed unbelievable that the semester was over. Two more days of classes, and then a week of finals, and then home for a month. When he was in high school Spencer thought college was going to be like the movies: he was going to find himself and make great friends and fall in love with the perfect man. He'd look back fondly on these four years for the rest of his life. Now he was close to halfway done, and it seemed like little had actually changed. Ryan was still his only close friend. He'd overcome the vaguely embarrassing obstacle of his virginity but he'd never had anything close to a meaningful relationship. He at best was apathetic about his major and would most likely end up working as a waiter after graduation, if he made it that far. He'd been the victim of some pretty intense false advertising.

Ryan called around noon, so Spencer took his break. He sat in the back room and ate a tuna sandwich and listened to Ryan wax poetic about a girl named Elizabeth who was in his honors seminar. He'd been talking about her all semester but as far as Spencer could tell had never actually spoken a word to her outside of class. That was fairly typical of Ryan's romantic infatuations. He and his housemates were having a Christmas party on Friday, and he was going to invite Elizabeth, if he worked up the nerve. He demanded Spencer come to provide moral support.

"Okay, sure," Spencer said.

"Good," Ryan said. "She's really incredible, Spence. You'll see when you meet her. She's probably the most beautiful woman in the world."

Spencer shook his head and chewed his sandwich.

His break ended and Spencer went back out to the desk and tried to study, but it was afternoon and all the irresponsible people who didn't have jobs were finally rolling out of bed. He checked out books and helped a bewildered freshman find the course reserves. Finally, one o'clock rolled around. He started to get ready to leave. Someone walked up to the desk, and he narrowed his eyes and prepared to bitch at them for failing to observe that he'd put up his 'Closed' sign when he saw that it was Brendon.

"Oh," he said. "Hey."

"Hey," Brendon said. "I got your text and I went and checked some of the other boxes. Our message has definitely gotten through. I can't believe how many people have donated stuff. Shane let me borrow his truck and I'm going to make a run into town with what we've got so far."

"That's awesome," Spencer said. He grabbed his flashcards and his phone. "You should have let me know. I'm getting off now, so I can help out if you wanted."

"You don't have to. I basically guilted you into this and you've already gone above and beyond the call of duty."

"It's no problem," Spencer said. "I studied a ton this morning. I need to decompress now. Besides, I'm excited to see the fruits of our labors."

"Oh man," Brendon said, getting excited. "You would not believe some of the stuff people have donated. Did you even know they made canned haggis?"

Spencer grimaced. "Seriously? That's fucking disgusting."

"I know," Brendon said. "It's amazing. Hopefully it will fulfill some Scotsman's Christmas dream."

Spencer rolled his eyes and smiled.

***

The rest of the week dragged. Spencer spent all of Tuesday in the library alternately writing his paper and wasting time on his laptop playing solitaire. He finished with a few hours to spare and wasn't even too upset with the final product. Jon was at the dorm when he got back. They ordered a pizza and put in a movie and smoked up with the curtains drawn. It was comfortable and good. Spencer thought of inviting Brendon over but he didn't know what Jon would say, or if Brendon was even cool with pot. The next day he woke early and went to work. It was snowing again. He called his mom when he got off and sat in a deserted corner of the student lounge listening to her talk about his sisters' most recent dance recital. He didn't want to take the bus in the bad weather, so he canceled on lunch with Ryan. Thursday was the last day of classes. Spencer woke up early and went to the gym; he hadn't gone much lately and he felt sluggish and slow. He got back early enough to grab some breakfast before he went to Intro of Stats. He sat in the D.C. eating a bowl of cereal and flipping through his notes when someone sat down beside him and slid an arm over his shoulder. It was Pete.

"Hey kiddo," he said. "Party at my place starting at noon."

Spencer grinned. "Closing the semester out with a bang, huh?"

"Totally," Pete said. "Plus, Gabe is leaving tonight for Jersey and I wanna give him a proper send off."

"Nice," Spencer said. "I've got class until four but I'll stop by after. I'm sure Jon will be there at twelve sharp. He was done yesterday."

"That bastard," Pete said, fondly. "I've got to finish in my paper for Everyday Life in Ancient Rome and then I'm done. It's titled 'Feasts and Festivities of the Roman Elite'. Awesome, right?"

"Right up your alley," Spencer said, laughing.

"Hey," Pete said. "There's your buddy Brendon." He leaned closer. "I told you he was kinda hot, dude. You hitting that or what?"

Spencer elbowed Pete in the ribs. Pete gasped and laughed at the same time.

"It's not like that, asshole," Spencer hissed. He would have said more, but Brendon had seen them. He waved and headed their way. Spencer glared at Pete. "You better be nice."

"Hey," Brendon said. He wore a dark tee shirt and black jeans, but his breakfast made up for his unusually somber dress. His tray held a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and a Pop-Tart; it was colorful, if of dubious nutritional value. "What's going on?"

"Hey Bren," Spencer said. "Not too much. My last classes are today."

"Nice," Brendon said. "I've got my Music Theory final later, and the dress rehearsal for the Christmas concert is tonight."

"What?" Spencer said. "You didn't tell me you had a recital."

"Oh," Brendon said. He was staring into his bowl of cereal like it was an oracle. "Yeah. Next Monday at seven."

"What are you guys singing?" Pete asked. His eyes gleamed in a way that made Spencer nervous. "Frosty the Snowman?"

"No," Brendon said, frowning. "Bernstein's Chichester Psalms, actually."

Someone across the D.C. called Pete's name. He shouted a greeting. "Alright, I've got more love to spread," he said. "Spencer, I'll see you tonight." He strode off across the hall.

Brendon's expression was carefully neutral.

"Fine, you were right," Spencer said. "He's a little bit self-involved, but he's a good friend."

"Right," Brendon said. "So I hear." He stirred the milky pink remnants of his cereal.

"So hey," Spencer said. "Where's your recital?"

Brendon glanced up. His bangs covered half his face. "In the Arts Center." He wouldn't look Spencer in the face.

"So?" Spencer pressed. "Are there still tickets?"

"Uh, I guess. You want to come?" Brendon sounded confused.

"Yeah," said Spencer. "I keep hearing about what a great voice you've got, but I have yet to hear any evidence."

"We're all supposed to get two comp tickets, and uh, nobody's going to use mine, so I guess if you wanted to ..."

"I totally want to come," Spencer said. He glanced down at his phone. "Shit, I'm going to be late to Stats." He stood and grabbed his tray. "Seriously, Brendon, I want to hear you sing. Get a ticket for me, or let me know where I can buy one or whatever." He surprised himself with how earnest he sounded, how much he really did want to go and see Brendon sing.

"Yeah, definitely," Brendon said. His reserve was gone. He smiled, and it was like a cloudburst, that sudden and drenching. "I'll get you a ticket."

"Awesome," Spencer said. He felt his cheeks go red, but he couldn't look away.

Brendon picked up his own tray and took a step towards the trashcans. Halfway there, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. He paused just in the path of a beam of pale winter light as it fell through one of the big plate-glass windows. He was perfectly still and his mouth was curving and he was beautiful. Spencer realized suddenly it suddenly. An electric shock raced up his spine. He had no more words. He couldn't have spoken.

***

The clock hands slowly completed their orbit, and Spencer's last, interminable Stats class was done. He had a little free time now, until his finals at least. It was a welcome break; he needed time to think. His stomach was still jumbled. The realization that he liked Brendon had been a shock to his system. He'd never been able to disengage attraction from the physical; he'd thought plenty of guys were hot before, but he wasn't sure that he'd ever been genuinely fond of someone like was fond of Brendon. Nobody else had ever made Spencer smile just by being themselves.

He went back to his room and laid in his unmade bed and stared at the ceiling until the alarm on his phone went off. He got up, a little unwilling, to shower and dress. There was no sign of Jon. He pulled out his notes for Calc and leafed through them. He had arranged to study with some of his classmates the next day. He stared at himself in the mirror and decided to change his shirt, swapping a black button-up for plaid. Although it was well below freezing, the afternoon sunshine pouring through the window was warm. It made him sleepy. It made him want to lay back down and sleep.

When he ran out of delays, he put on his coat and he walked to Pete's dorm. The party was subdued. Drowsiness had spread like a plague. Everyone was drinking cheap beer when Pete's friend Joe had the idea to make eggnog. They looked up a recipe online, and a debate ensued about the safety of eating raw eggs. Spencer sipped his beer and stayed out of it. A delegation was sent to the store. Someone brought 'The Muppet Christmas Carol' on DVD and they all sat on the couch and watched it. Whoever was sent to the store made it back eventually, but the interest in making eggnog had subsided. Spencer sighed and took it upon.

He heated the milk and added the spices and whipped the yolks until his forearms ached. When the milk was warmed he blended it together and added perhaps a little too much brandy. His hands ended up sticky, but his efforts were appreciated. Someone was singing along with the movie. Pete didn't have enough mugs, so some had to drink their eggnog from soup bowls. Patrick had arrived, and Pete was goading him into leading a round of carols. Face red, he conceded, and everyone sang along, even if few knew all the words.

Jon showed up with Cassie and it had to be eight o'clock by that point. The evening had gone by in a hazy instant. Pete had gotten out his hookah and the air was smokey and fragrant like roses. Gabe showed up late, after his supposed departure for New Jersey, and the music got louder then. More and more people showed up. Spencer didn't know many of them. He retained possession of most of his faculties. Patrick was sitting on the balcony playing guitar. He sat there on the cold concrete and listened until it got so cold that his fingers tingled.

There was nothing left to do but drink more, so Spencer left. He didn't want to a repeat of last time. He excavated his coat and scarf from the pile on Pete's bed and left without saying goodbye to anyone. It was only nine o'clock. The night sky was ink and pearls. The wind blew fiercely, tossing the ends of his scarf and making his eyes water. There weren't too many people out. A group of carolers stood on the steps of the library dressed in period costume and sang. Spencer searched their faces, but no, Brendon wasn't among them. He didn't know why he expected him to be, except that he'd been waiting to see all night, it seemed.

The dorm was quiet. Pete wasn't the only one celebrating the last day of classes. Doors were shut and lights were dimmed and the girl sitting at the front desk was nobody Spencer knew. He took the stairs two at a time. A few of the needles from Brendon's wreathes had browned and fallen to the floor, but the lights twinkled and the hall was cheerful. He had his key out when he paused and looked down the hall and saw that Brendon's door was ajar.

He hesitated a moment and knocked. Brendon sat on his in dress slacks and an undershirt, a book in hand. His hair was combed back neatly. He wasn't wearing his glasses.

"How was your rehearsal?" Spencer asked.

Brendon started. "Oh, hey, Spence." He smiled. "It was fine. Thanks for asking."

"I'm excited to hear you sing," Spencer said. He hadn't felt drunk, but he was a little dizzy now, a little unsure of his words.

"That's ... uh, that's awesome," Brendon said, but he sounded hesitant. "I'm gonna get a ticket for you tomorrow."

"Thanks," Spencer said. That was it; there was nothing more to say, really, but he lingered, leaning a little to heavily on the door frame. The book Brendon had been reading was spine-up on the bed. He was staring at something on the wall that Spencer couldn't see.

"How was Pete's party?" Brendon asked. "I didn't think you'd be back so early."

Spencer frowned. "It was okay. We sang carols, and I made eggnog."

Brendon sat up a little. "From scratch?"

"Yeah," Spencer said. "It was weird. I've only had it from a carton before."

"It was gross, you mean," Brendon said. "Eggnog is gross, Spencer."

Spencer rolled his eyes and grinned. "It was pretty good. I was kind of surprised too, but seriously."

"You can't meant that," Brendon said. "Everyone knows wassail is the only acceptable holiday drink."

"Wassail?" Spencer asked. He stepped past the threshold into the room. "Like wassailing? Like that song?"

"You've never had wassail?" Brendon was aghast. "You haven't lived until you've had wassail."

Spencer laughed. He unbuttoned his jacket and took it off. It was warm, but it was always warm in the dorms.

"You should totally have come with me tonight," he said as he unwound his scarf. "We needed some professional vocal talent."

Brendon's expression was pensive. "I don't think Pete would have liked that very much."

"Don't worry about him," Spencer said. "He's fine once you get to know him."

"Yeah," Brendon said, but his tone was defeated. He said nothing else.

Down the hall, the door to the stairwell opened with its characteristic squeak. The footfalls receded. Spencer felt awkward, leaning against the wall. He slid down and sat on the floor, knees folded to his chest. There was a suit jacket thrown over the back of Brendon's desk chair, and a stack of books on the ground next to his bed. His guitar case stood in the corner. Spencer collected these details and stowed them away. Brendon had taken up his book. The silence persisted.

"What are you reading?" Spencer asked.

"A book," Brendon replied. Then he burst out laughing. "Sorry, I think that's an ingrained response from when I was a kid. My mother had a serious distrust of the school library. I used to get interrogated."

"It's okay," Spencer said. "It was a dumb question to ask. Ryan gets annoyed too."

"You're good friends with him," Brendon said. "How did you meet?"

"I've known him forever," Spencer said. "Since we were little kids. Half the reason I applied here was because my senior year of high school was miserable without him."

"That's pretty cool," Brendon said. "I didn't think you were the best friend kind of person."

Spencer shifted. His back was hot against the wall. "I never thought about it, but I guess I am," he said. "Really, Ryan's kind of my only friend."

"That's not true," Brendon said. "What about Jon? And Pete?"

Spencer nodded. "Yeah," he relented. "They're friends, but it's not the same. They're circumstantial."

"What do you mean?" Brendon set down his book.

Spencer shook his head. His bangs fell in his face and he brushed them back. "I mean, they aren't people I'll talk to once we graduate and leave Hayle." He'd never articulated it quite like that before, but he knew it would be true. He'd always be friends with Pete and Jon and all the others, but it would amount to nothing more than a phone call once every nine months, or a card at the holidays -- the barest sketch of friendship.

"Most friendships are like that," Brendon said. "Most people aren't as lucky as you are, to have someone like Ryan."

"That's bleak," Spencer said. He stared at his shoe. Maybe it was like that for most people. He felt like it might be, felt it in the gaps that had appeared in the tight weave of his and Ryan's friendship, gaps that only seemed to widen.

"Yeah," Brendon said. He flung himself down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Spencer pursed his lips. "But that's what love is, isn't it?" he said. "Maybe that's what you get instead, as you grow up."

Brendon shook his head. He was half hidden by the rumpled covers. "If you believe in it."

"You don't?" Spencer said.

Brendon shrugged. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Spencer. The material of his shirt was thin enough that Spencer could see the ripple of vertebrae down his back. From outside the room, there was laughter. Spencer's knees felt tight as he stood. So careful, he sat down on the bed at Brendon's side. His hand cupped Brendon's shoulder. The skin was warm and smooth. It felt like the first time he'd ever touched anyone.

Brendon rolled onto his back. His hair fell around his face. He looked up through the fan of his lashes. His eyes shone dark. He reached up and hooked a finger in the collar of Spencer's tee shirt and tugged and Spencer bent almost in two and their mouths met at an awkward angle, but Brendon's lips were soft and warm and up close his skin was flawless smooth.

Spencer broke the kiss and turned and Brendon's fingertips rested in the hollow of his neck. They were kissing again, and pressed close together. Spencer fit his hands to the curve of Brendon's waist, pushing up his shirt, greedy for the hot satin of his skin. His body was heavy. Movement was tenuous. Brendon's other hand tangled in his hair. Brendon opened his mouth and Spencer bit his lower lip. He curled a foot around Brendon's bare ankle. Brendon smiled against Spencer's mouth.

"Wait," he whispered, and he pulled back and climbed over Spencer and out of bed. He fumbled out of his shirt; Spencer wanted to rub his stomach, feel the muscle faintly visible under his skin, trace the dark line of hair that led under the waist of his pants. Brendon shut the door softly and turned off the lights. They were alone in the dark then, except for the regular manic twinkling of the Christmas tree, red to green to blue to white, and back again. Brendon looked unreal. He undid his pants and stepped out of them, and crawled back onto the bed, on top of Spencer, blanketing him in heat.

***

Spencer woke in Brendon's bed, alone. The pillows smelled like Brendon, and the sheets, but Brendon was not there. The room was cold; one window was cracked open. The light was still the kind light of early morning. Spencer pulled the blankets tight around his shoulders. He wore no shirt, but his jeans felt too tight and stiff. Someone walked past in the hall outside. He stared at Brendon's posters, some of them were torn. The scotch tape holding them to the wall was starting to peel. The smallness of the room and the cold were oppressive. It didn't make sense that Brendon was gone. Spencer had expected him to stay. He had expected that they would wake together.

His coat sat balled on the floor still. From the breast pocket, his phone chirped angrily. It was time to study for his Calc exam. He stopped by his room to grab his books. Jon was snoring in his bed. There was no sign of Brendon downstairs. Spencer stopped at the D.C. for coffee and a bagel. He was late for the study session. The others had gotten started without him. He frowned and flipped his notebook open. The numbers and variables made much less sense than normal. He leaned heavily on the table and said barely a word. In the corner of his notebook he drew squiggly shapes. By noon he was too hungry and peevish to continue. He gathered his stuff and waved goodbye and went to the D.C. for a sandwich.

He sat at the same table at which he'd eaten breakfast the day before. That seemed like a very long time ago ... Everything before he sat down on Brendon's bed was receding beyond the horizon. He got a grilled cheese, but his appetite had vanished. He saw a guy from his French class and he went to ask him a question about the exam. Ryan texted him to remind him of the party. Spencer hadn't forgotten, but he realized he would have to leave soon to make it there on time.

He headed back to the dorm. Brendon wasn't at the front desk. When Spencer went upstairs, his door was shut. He thought knocking, but something stayed him. Jon was up, playing music over his computer's tinny speakers.

"Where were you last night?" he asked, when Spencer came in.

Spencer's cheeks heated. "Nowhere," he said.

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Nowhere?"

"I slept in Brendon's room," he said, after a long moment.

Jon nodded. "You've been hanging out with him a lot."

"Yeah," Spencer said. "Yeah. I have. He's a good guy."

"Cool," Jon said, and that was it.

He took a shower. He dressed. He couldn't convince Jon to come to Ryan's party, but Jon agreed to lend him his car. He checked his phone. He had no unread messages or missed calls. He closed his eyes. This wasn't the way he normally acted, but this wasn't the way he normally felt. He wondered if he'd done something wrong the night before. They hadn't even gone very far, just laid as close together as possible and kissed languorously until everything slowed down and they fell asleep. It felt like more, though.

Spencer grabbed Jon's keys and waved. He started towards the stairs and then paused and looked back at Brendon's door. It was still shut, but he couldn't leave without trying. He went and knocked. He waited. He knocked again.

The door opened. Brendon was rumpled, pajama pants and baggy shirt. His hair was mussed. He frowned.

"Hi," Spencer said.

"Oh," Brendon said. "Uh ..."

"Come to Ryan's party with me," Spencer said. He stepped forward, close.

Brendon moved away, hunched his shoulders. There was a strange, sharp, awkward space between them then.

Spencer must have messed up. "I'm leaving, but I'll wait for you to get ready."

Brendon ran a hand through his hair. It stood up straight. He stared at the ground at Spencer's feet. His forehead was creased. "Okay," he said. "Fine. But I have to take a shower."

"I'll wait here," Spencer said. "I mean, if you don't ..."

"It's fine," Brendon said. The corners of his mouth were turned down. He went to his closet and got a towel and his bath things and he left.

Spencer sat on the bed. He drummed his fingers against the cool sheets. They were coarse as burlap compared to the soft of Brendon's skin. He texted Ryan to say he was running a little late. There was a photograph on Brendon's dresser. It wasn't framed, and the corners were covered in fingerprints. It wasn't hard to pick Brendon out from his brothers; he was younger and smaller and his hair was less tidy. His family was big and happy. He must have missed them badly. Spencer would have.

It felt a little like he was spying, so he put the picture back. The door creaked. Brendon came in with a towel around his waist and flip-flops on his feet. His skin was dewy. He went to his dresser and pulled out underwear, shirt, jeans.

"Can you ... um?" He was blushing.

"Oh! Sure," Spencer said. He turned and stared at the wall and listened to the rustle of cloth.

"Okay," Brendon said. He was pulling on a sock, akimbo on one leg. He got the other one on and sat on the floor to tie his shoelaces. "Thanks for inviting me," he said.

"Of course," Spencer said. "I think you're really going to like Ryan, when you get to know him."

Brendon smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Okay, I'm ready."

They sat while Jon's car warmed up. It was snowing again. Even with the heat on, their breath clouded the windows. Night was coming on. Spencer turned the volume down on the radio. The reception was no good anyway. The plows had been through sometime during the day but everything was glazed anew. He drove slow, extra cautious. Brendon folded his hands in his lap. He didn't speak, just stared out the passenger-side window.

"When are you taking the rest of the stuff to the food bank?" Spencer asked. He peered out into the gloom, barely able to see further than the next streetlight.

"Tuesday, I was thinking," Brendon said.

"I'll help you," Spencer said automatically.

"Thanks," Brendon said. Then he was silent.

The roads were empty. Spencer hated driving in bad weather. He started to wish he hadn't come, or that he hadn't asked Brendon. He'd done something wrong. He knew it. All the ease they'd accumulated was gone. They should have been a closer fit than ever. The light at the center of town was red as they pulled up; they waited there a long moment until it changed to green. The Christmas lights on all the houses were eerie beacons through the haze of snow. They passed an accident: a car skidded off the road and ran into a tree. The hood had bent and crumpled from the force of the crash. The driver's door was open, but the car was empty and dark.

In the parking lot of Ryan's apartment complex, all the cars were blanketed lumps. The sodium lights tinted the world warm and apricot. Spencer parked. Brendon went to open his door.

"Wait." Spencer put a hand on Brendon's arm, stilling him. Brendon settled back in his seat and stared straight ahead. His profile was crisp. "What did I do last night? If you didn't ... If you didn't want to do that, you should have said something."

Brendon shook his head, and laughed a little. The noise was hollow. Snow stuck the windshield, whiting out the world. "I wanted to."

"What did I do wrong?" Spencer asked. The cold had infiltrated his stomach.

"Nothing," Brendon said. "Nothing at all."

"You're mad at me," Spencer said. The wind gusted. The car trembled.

"I'm not mad at you," Brendon said. "I'm not mad at you at all. I've wanted that for a long time. I had a crush on you. I guess you knew that."

Spencer shook his head. "No," he said. "I didn't know. I don't ... What's wrong?"

Brendon sighed. "I like you. I think you're awesome, and I want to kiss you and hang out with you all the time, and I'm not ... I'm not like you. I don't just hook up with hot guys all the time like it's nothing."

Spencer grimaced. He wasn't that way, not really. He wasn't sure if he was offended. "It's not like I sleep around ..."

"I don't mean that," Brendon said, cutting him off. "Fuck. I don't mean that at all. I just mean - " He stopped. On the main road, a snowplow lumbered past ponderously. "It meant a lot to me. You mean a lot to me. I know that's kind of stupid but it's true." He turned to stare out the window again. He was pale and his hair was dark against his neck.

"You mean a lot to me too," Spencer said. He felt like he was going to cry but he wasn't sure why. "I don't ... I want that too, Brendon. I don't want anyone else. I just want you."

Brendon looked at him. "But you said that college friends were just circumstantial ..."

"I didn't mean you," Spencer said. "I meant that it felt different with us."

"Oh," Brendon said. "Really?" He glanced away and then back, and he smiled wide.

"Yes. Absolutely." Spencer grinned. He couldn't help it. He felt the block of ice in his gut start to melt. He felt like laughing.

"I guess we should go inside before we freeze to death," Brendon said.

The walks were not shoveled and they sank down inches. The snowfall chimed quietly in the silence. The windows of Ryan's condo were bright. Spencer reached out, impulsive, and took Brendon's hand. It was awkward, with the gloves, but Brendon held on. They rang the bell and waited.

"Look," Brendon said. "Is that mistletoe over the door?"

Spencer stared. There was some kind of greenery, but it was hard to make it out. "I don't think ... Oh. Oh. Um, maybe?" He felt giddy and warm.

"That was so un-smooth. That was anti-smooth, dude," Brendon said. His voice was glad.

Spencer rolled his eyes and leaned forward and kissed him anyway.


End file.
